


bit warm, but that don't mean i'm on fire

by notlucy



Series: Give a Little, Take a Little [5]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bad Jokes, But Bucky likes it, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Kink, Dom Steve Rogers, Electricity, Good Choices, Kink Negotiation, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Paddling, Praise Kink, Quite Literally, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Sex Work, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Violet Wand, exercise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Nobody puts Bucky in a corner.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Give a Little, Take a Little [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1263104
Comments: 98
Kudos: 830





	bit warm, but that don't mean i'm on fire

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to the Patsy to my Loretta. Love you, kiddo - happy birthday.
> 
> If you're new to the universe, this can be read as a standalone bit of kinky nonsense, but I'd recommend starting at the start with [_practice my maintenance_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17531096).

There’s this thing Bucky has, where something gets into his head—maybe it’s a line of dialogue, or a bit of a song, or some combination of words that his brain latches onto—and for the _life _of him, he cannot shake it. Starts picking it apart. Twisting it around and around until it is, genuinely, the funniest or most profound thing he’s ever encountered.

Like, in junior high, it was the Knights who say Ni, and in college, it had been the sound of Samwise Gamgee pronouncing potato, and now? Now, it is the sudden and vital realization that nobody, not _nobody_, puts Baby in a corner.

Except that Bucky _is _in a corner. Which is what makes the whole concept so funny. Because not only is he in a corner, he’s _naked_ in a corner. Naked, kneeling, in a corner. Legs spread. Facing the wall. He is Baby, and Steve has put him in a corner, only Steve's not Patrick Swayze, and he’s not Jennifer Grey, so the metaphor doesn't even make any sense, but what does it matter, now that he's got the giggles?

The giggles might be a problem. Because of the aforementioned corner, and the soon-to-be-arriving Steve. But there Bucky remains, heedless of the consequences, little snorts escaping as he presses his lips tightly together and tries to stop his shoulders shaking.

For years, the Barnes family has maintained a vicious, unsubstantiated rumor that Bucky has a tough time keeping his shit together once he gets going. That he can’t be trusted during mass. That he’ll ruin game night. That he’ll laugh himself stupid over nothing. Except it’s not _nothing_, it’s just dumb shit that nobody else finds as hilarious as he does.

Because nobody. Puts Baby. In a corner.

By the time Steve opens the door, Bucky’s got tears on his cheeks, twitching with suppressed joy, face no doubt gone red, entire body tense, and oh, _God_. Steve’s not gonna understand. Steve’s gonna think he’s lost his mind. He has to calm down. Has to chill out.

He can’t. Steve coming in should have sobered him up but nope. He’s lost to the hysteria. Another game night ruined.

Steve says nothing. Bucky twists his mouth into a grimace, hoping to keep the next peal of laughter at bay, trying to focus on the noises Steve's making instead. He hears him put something down—something substantial—then close the door. Hears him move the chair by the padded wall. Hears him open something. Close something. Place something on the chair.

Through all of it, he can't stop fucking giggling, though he's nearly bitten through his bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep quiet, because this isn't fun anymore. He feels like a weirdo, and his stomach hurts, and he _hates _that he can't help this. It's all well and good at a garden party, but this is one of his rare nights with Steve, so he should be taking it seriously.

Seconds later, he feels the press of Steve's thighs against his shoulder blades. One of those big hands coming to rest heavily on Bucky's head, tugging him back by the hair, so he's forced to look up and into Steve's eyes. That makes him absolutely _lose _it, snorting out loud as tears of mirth trickle over his temples.

“Hi,” Steve says, the only sign of his mood a slight eyebrow raise as he twists his fingers into Bucky’s hair, pulling until it hurts.

“Hnnngh—” Bucky chokes around his giggles.

"Oh, man." Steve gives another tug, so Bucky’s forced to follow as he walks to the chair. Half-crawling, half-dragged, laughing at nothing and grunting his discomfort at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he manages once they reach their destination.

Steve shrugs. Releases his hold on Bucky’s hair and picks up a familiar round paddle before taking a seat and patting his lap. “Up and over, please.”

(It is to Bucky’s incredible relief that Steve has let pass the opportunity to make a, “you want something to cry about? I’ll give you something to cry about,” remark, as he genuinely believes it might have killed him to hear it.)

“Uh-huh,” he squeaks. He can do this; he can get into position. He can be a good boy. Steve believes he’s a good boy, but shit, surely even good boys get the giggles? Letting out a shuddery breath, he crawls over Steve’s lap, settling himself with another, “sorry.”

Steve taps the paddle lightly against his ass before placing it on the small of his back and starting to move him into position. “Don’t drop that. What are you so sorry for?”

“Laughing?”

“I don’t care if you laugh,” he says, nudging his thighs apart. “Was it a good joke, at least?”

“It wasn’t,” he admits with a sniffle, because now his nose is running.

“No?” Steve’s hand moves to his left cheek, kneading the skin. Making him shiver in spite of his continued mirth.

“I was just…” He can’t get the words out. This is so _stupid_. “You know that movie, _Dirty Dancing_?”

“I’m familiar, yeah.”

“So I was just over there thinking like…nobody puts Baby in a corner?”

Steve taps his index finger against Bucky’s backside three times, and Bucky can practically picture the expression on his face. “I don’t get it.”

“There’s…” Bucky clears his throat. “There’s nothing to get? I just…Baby was in a corner. I was in a corner. It was…funny?”

“And that’s why you can’t stop laughing?”

“Yup.” Body betraying him, a hiccup escapes.

“Are you high?”

“No!”

“Just checking,” he says, and Bucky’s sure he’s smiling. “I’m gonna hit you now.”

“Uh—”

He barely manages an assenting grunt before Steve picks up the paddle and starts spanking. Hard enough and fast enough that Bucky’s brain goes silent, laughter forgotten. Or, well, not _forgotten_. It’s just that he’s only capable of focusing on one thing at a time, mind mixing what hurts like hell with what’s hilarious, so the tears of hysteria quickly turn to tears of discomfort.

Which is probably the point. Because they’re not _all _tears of discomfort. Some of them are maybe, dramatically, tears of relief. Joy. Something. Happiness at being there. With Steve. Again. He really fucking loves this. The small room. The blank walls. The silence save for the sound of Steve bringing the paddle down again and again.

His first real “ouch!” comes a couple minutes into the proceedings, when Steve smacks the paddle against his inner thigh, one foot lifting off the ground in a didn’t-mean-to-be-petulant kick.

“Foot down,” Steve chides, then hits him right on the same damn spot.

“Sorry!” Bucky barks.

Steve doesn't acknowledge the apology, he just starts spanking again. And again. And again and again and again and again until Bucky's no longer laughing. No longer grinning. Only crying, gone limp against Steve's lap, not quite begging for it to be over but mewling contrite little 'please, please, please' triads all the same.

"Please?" Steve echoes, giving him a wallop in the center of both cheeks. "Please, what?"

“I dunno,” he manages, brain flaring red hot as he swipes a hand across his nose.

“Try again,” comes the reprimand, and Bucky knows what’s gonna happen before it does—same hit, same place, twice as hard.

“Ow, _fuck_. I…please stop?”

“Aw,” Steve smiles, setting the paddle back in the small of Bucky’s back. “Sure. Shit, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

“Huh?” He blinks through gummy, tear-damp eyelashes and remembers that Steve is, actually, an asshole. “Hey!”

"You're kinda sensitive today," he goes on, grabbing two handfuls of Bucky's rear, and oh, that _might _be worse than the spanking.

Well, not _worse_. Just a different sort of painful. Bucky moans all the same, neurons firing to kick out a new worry that he’s disappointing Steve by being overly-sensitive. It’s not like he _meant _to be, it’s only that Steve started out hard, and Bucky already felt like he was turned to eleven, which is another funny movie, so—

“Hey,” Steve says, lifting his right leg to jostle him. “You with me?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I was just thinking, you being sensitive is gonna make tonight fun.”

“It is?”

“Sure.” Steve releases his hold and gives Bucky’s ass two quick pats. “For me. You’re the one who asked to get electrocuted.”

Motherfuck. He had asked for that, hadn’t he? “Oh. Right.”

“First, though,” Steve nudges him with his other thigh, throwing him off balance. “Stand up, put your hands behind your head.”

Bucky hops to, putting both hands on Steve’s leg to push himself up and taking note (just a little) of how, well, _firm _the muscles beneath his hands are. Which he already knows, because he’s been draped over them for the better part of ten minutes. But feeling them? Squeezing them? They’re just…nice.

“Legs further apart,” Steve says once Bucky’s standing, using the toe of his sneaker to knock at his ankles, forcing him to widen his stance, which already feels pretty goddamn wide.

“Like that?” he asks, biting his lip.

“Yup.” Steve stands. Moves behind Bucky to take him by the elbows, pulling them back, making the position a bit tougher to hold. “Just like that, good boy.”

Bucky grins, and it’s a dopey one. Steve comes back around and catches him smiling, laughing a little laugh of his own before touching his index finger to Bucky’s nose. Runs a path from there, over his mouth, down his neck to his sternum, then scoots over a few inches to tweak his nipple. Bucky flinches, then laughs, but doesn’t break position.

“I’ve been thinking about you and your shitty posture,” Steve says. Just making conversation.

“You have?” he replies, and it’s hard not to focus on the_ 'thinking about you_' part of that statement.

“Mmmhmm. I got annoyed every time I remembered you were probably sitting at work, slumped over a desk.”

“Oh, I had an idea for that!” He exclaims, then bites his tongue.

Steve seems taken aback and raises a brow. "Oh yeah?"

“Uh-huh. I was on Instagram, and there was this ad for uh…it’s like this little doohickey you stick on your back? It syncs with your phone and like…vibrates when you slouch, I think? I went to the website.”

Steve has this funny expression on his face like he smelled a wet dog, or (more likely) thinks Bucky's an overstepping weirdo. Which makes Bucky wish he'd never said anything at all, except then Steve says, "tell me more."

“It uh…the site said it’ll, you know. Give you reports after a while? Tell you how many times you slump in a day, and like, when it buzzes you, you sit up straight.”

"Sounds expensive," he replies, finger traveling on a new journey, trailing across Bucky's chest to his other nipple. Holding on this time, giving it a sharp pinch.

“There was a coupon,” he breathes, every inch of him focused on keeping still.

Fingernails dig harder into tender flesh, and Steve grins. “Thrifty. I like that.”

“It’s…ohh.” Fuck, he wants to squirm. Wants to jump. Wants to run away even as Steve’s twisting his tit and _Jesus_, that’s obnoxious and delightful all at once.

“You’ve got me intrigued, though,” Steve admits, releasing the reddened skin, rubbing the sore spot for a second, then running his finger firmly down Bucky’s belly, stopping just above his navel and pressing in. Not tickling, though, for which Bucky’s grateful. “If you had one of those, and you wore it while you were at work…” He makes a humming noise, finger dipping lower. Through Bucky’s not-so-trimmed thicket of pubic hair, until it’s nearly, nearly, _nearly _making contact with the base of his rapidly rising prick. “…actually, how would that work, if it was being tracked on your phone?”

“How do, um.” Bucky swallows. He can’t focus. “How does what work?”

“How would I track your eh…let’s call ‘em, maybe, violations?”

Something about the word _violations _does it for him; it conjures images of British boarding schools and demerits and a weird dream he once had about Remus Lupin. "Uh. I could…I could show you my phone when I came here?"

"Now there's an idea," Steve says with a smile. "I wonder how many you'd rack up over a week? Probably a bunch to start, though I bet you'd learn quick. But on average, let's say five or six a day. Times five days you're at work. Times two weeks. So you're looking at…" He leans closer. "Huh. I'm not a genius like you, but I'm figuring that's about a minimum of fifty."

Gosh, aren’t Bucky’s thighs just quivering? That’s fun. And new. And kind of a turn-on. “Fifty…what?”

Steve grins, and then there's pain of the white-hot variety because he has chosen that moment to flick the head of Bucky's dick like a kid might flick a paper football across a table.

“Ah-haah!” Bucky whines, which is possibly the _most _undignified noise he’s ever made.

“What do _you _think you should get fifty of?” Steve prompts, giving him no recovery time.

“Spanks?” Bucky squeaks out, not wanting to repeat the flicking experience (except for how he really, really does).

“Eh.” Steve does it again. Bucky whines on an exhale, the sound reminiscent of a deflating bagpipe. “You _like _getting spanked. This is supposed to be a deterrent. So maybe…hmm. Fifty clothespins?”

“Uh.”

“A zipper line, I think. You wanted to try clothespins, right?”

“Suh-sure?” As with most things on the list, Bucky had indicated that he’d at least be up for a trial run.

“I’d stick ‘em all over you, get you worked up, and then when you told me you were gonna come…” Another flick. “I’d rip ‘em all off at once, nice and clean.”

Bucky's knees buckle, and he tells himself it's from the pain, though truthfully, it's from the mental image, so it's all he can do to nod.

“Bet you’d start sitting up straighter, huh, sweetheart?”

Another nod, licking his lips. “Uh-huh.”

“Of course,” Steve continues, placing his hand flat on Bucky’s belly. “It’s all hypothetical, right?”

“Right,” he says softly.

“But you like the idea?”

“I…yeah.”

“Such a pal,” Steve clucks, and Bucky gets the feeling he’s about to pull one of his quick-shifts-in-subject. “So, how was yoga?”

Ha! Proud of himself for picking up on Steve’s conversational tells, Bucky grins. “It was really good.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me something you learned.”

"What, why?" He says, only the moment the question is out of his mouth, he realizes his mistake. Pride goeth, indeed, dumbass, meaning that Steve's advancing on him like a hungry lion. Because what's like, the _one _rule with Steve? Don’t question orders. “I mean! Um, I—”

"No second chances on first impressions," he says primly, and Bucky knows what's coming, but it still _sucks _when Steve grabs him by the balls and yanks with a half-twist that hurts like getting punched in the gut. He bends his knees to try and alleviate the pain only to have Steve grab him by the hair so he can’t. “No fuckin’ way, genius. Get up on your tip-toes.”

Bucky moans, but yeah, he's gonna be a ballerina. He's en pointe. He's as high as he can go within seconds, and Steve is _relentless, _and Steve is _mean,_ and Steve is gonna twist his fuckin’ nuts off. There’s a weird, high-pitched keening coming from somewhere, but it takes him a second to realize it’s coming from him.

Blessedly, Steve is merciful, releasing his hold after only a few seconds of torture. “Now,” he says, stepping back with a self-satisfied smile. “Show me. Something. You learned.”

“Yup, definitely!” Bucky agrees, voice a wheeze as he rifles through the blank pages of his memory for _one _of the fifty poses the too-perky-for-6am-instructor took them through. The only thing that comes to mind is the weird bent over thing she kept making them do—all fours, back as flat as he can make it while his hips point straight up at the ceiling, or out, or…whatever. It’s a pose. Steve can’t be mad about it.

“Good, good boy,” Steve praises, which doesn’t actually relieve the ache in Bucky’s balls, but makes him feel better anyway. “You remember what that one’s called?”

“Uh.” He blinks three times in quick succession. “Down…down dog?”

“Decent recall.” Steve steps behind him and Bucky tenses, but it’s only so he can put one hand on each of Bucky’s hips, easing him into a deeper version of the pose and _oh_, now he gets it—feels the stretch of the muscles he’s supposed to be engaging. “You were a little off. Hold it like that for me, please.”

It’s cute that he said please, as if Bucky has a choice in the matter. He manages a quick nod while Steve walks away, and by peering through the V formed by his body, Bucky can see him approaching a black case, squatting down, and rifling around inside.

“Is that…” Bucky begins, licking his lips.

“Hmm?”

“Is that your violet wand?”

“Sure is.”

“Oh.” A frisson of fear and excitement courses through him at the casual way Steve tosses that off. Like oh, yeah, just my little electrocution kit. No big deal there, pal.

And maybe it isn’t a big deal. But that’s the thing about trying new stuff: there’s no way of knowing what’s going to be a big deal until you’ve done it. Like, for example, spanking had been a big deal until he’d met Steve, but now it’s just a thing he does every other Friday night. Which means that electrocution _might_ be a big deal! Or it might be nothing. Or weird. Or a million different options along the spectrum of shit that turns Bucky on. As with most kinky things, the Internet has been zero help. He’s certainly seen his fair share of videos featuring electro-play, but while some of the porn makes it look like the violet wand is an instrument of supreme agony, other videos have the participants giggling and fucking around the whole time.

“My kit’s okay,” Steve says, making conversation as Bucky’s wrists begin to rebel against his held position. “I have like…ten attachments. My friend Nat’s got the good stuff, though.”

"Oh?" Bucky says like they're discussing the weather.

“Uh-huh—she’s got the shit you can use internally.”

Bucky’s asshole tightens, which is a _bit _melodramatic, thanks so much. “…oh!”

"That makes me a little nervous, honestly," he continues, which is funny because Bucky can't picture him nervous. Can't picture him hesitating over anything.

Jesus, he's starting to tremble, sweat beading on his forehead from nerves and excitement. Holding this position—_really _holding it, not just half-assing it in yoga class—is a lot of work. He blows out a shuddery breath, closing his eyes before responding. “Whuh-why?”

“Because I’d be afraid of soldering someone’s sphincter shut,” he snorts. Bucky would laugh, too, except Steve’s not the one with the vulnerable sphincter. “You can relax. Hands and knees.”

Thank fuck. He collapses to the floor, hoping (but not believing) that the physical education portion of the evening is over. Sure, he was a track and field guy in high school, but this bodyweight shit is for the birds.

Steve moves to his side and places a hand on his lower back. “Sit up, Buck. On your knees.”

Bucky does as he’s told and finds himself face-to-face with the tool he immediately recognizes as a violet wand. It’s not as scary as he thought it would be, up-close. The bottom half looks like a flashlight, sort of, or a skinny lamp without a base. Except in the place where a lightbulb would screw in, there’s a glass attachment that only kind of looks like a bulb. It’s long and skinny rather than bulbous, maybe a quarter inch in diameter, with a pointy tip. Steve’s holding that pointy tip three inches from Bucky’s face, while Bucky’s eyes travel down the tool to find a black cord snaking from the end, connected to an orange extension cord, which is plugged into a small, outlet on the wall.

“Is…um. Is it on?” He asks, looking from the wand back to Steve.

“Not yet,” Steve says, pressing the tip of the tool to Bucky’s nose. He jumps in spite of himself, which makes Steve laugh. “Nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, because what’s the point in lying?

“No reason to be nervous, pal. Relax a second, though. I want to talk to you first.”

Bucky takes the reprieve as a cue that he doesn’t need to kneel, so he sits cross-legged, surprised when Steve does the same, laying the wand across his lap.

"Gimme your arm," he says once he's settled, and as their knees are nearly touching, it's easy enough for Bucky to oblige. Steve takes hold carefully, turning his arm up, so the soft underside is exposed. "Thank you. Okay, first thing's first, we gotta discuss marks."

“Marks?”

“Yup. Depending on how intense we get, you might have some.”

“Oh. Like, bad ones?”

“Nah. They’re sorta like…imagine a real light cat scratch. You know how those can linger?”

Bucky doesn't have a cat, but growing up, they had a mean tabby who scratched. Which, in retrospect, he probably enjoyed more than he let on to his mother when she cleaned the cuts. "Yeah."

“That’s the best way I can think of to describe ‘em, though it’s not exactly right. They won’t be super visible, but you’ll notice them. And that’s the other thing—you’re gonna feel like you have a sunburn in some spots. Irritated skin.”

“A sunburn?”

“It’s…again, not a perfect analogy,” Steve smiles. “But yeah. So if there are places you want me to avoid, tell me now, because this’ll last for a couple of days.”

Bucky bites his lip and thinks it over. “Don’t leave anything on like, my hands? Or my fingertips? Or my face.” He uses his hands for work every day, after all, and the face is just logical.

“I can avoid all of that. Anywhere else?”

“Nope, that’s it.”

Steve’s eyebrow arches; for a minute, Bucky wonders if he might be about to protest. Instead, he smiles. “Last thing,” he says. “I don’t want you to worry about anything—this is safe. I’m uh…I don’t classify it as edge play, because the current running through this thing isn’t enough to do serious damage. You get me?”

Bucky nods.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he continues. “It’s not basic shit—it can _really _hurt, and I plan to show you just how much—” A grin spreads across his face, and Bucky can’t help returning it. “—but no matter how bad it hurts, it’s still controlled. Plus, I know what I’m doing, and you got your safe words if you want them. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna remind me of what those are?”

"Red, yellow, green," he recites, the tight ball of anxiety in his stomach loosening. "Winifred for like…I want to stop _everything_.” 

“Good boy. Keep your arm out,” Steve instructs, releasing him so he can pick up the wand. As if Bucky has any intention of moving without permission. He watches, curious, as Steve turns a dial on the bottom of the tool and yep, he can hear it—a faint humming in the air. Then, Steve does something that surprises him, holding the wand near his own skin, like he's checking the temperature of a baby's bottle. Satisfied with whatever he felt, he takes Bucky's wrist, running the long edge of the attachment, rather than the tip, down his forearm.

And it’s…fine? A weird, tingly, shivery feeling rather than a painful one—gentler than static shock, for sure. Also, like, a negative ten on the pain scale, with the anticipation being much worse than the reality

“That’s about as gentle as it gets,” Steve says, noting his lack of reaction. “I want to work our way up until you’re uncomfortable, using this attachment, then once we’ve level set, we’re gonna play, try out some stuff.”

“Sure, yeah,” Bucky agrees.

Steve cranks the dial before returning the wand to his forearm. Which, okay, he feels it _more _that time. Like bad static, or maybe worse, and it makes him squirm. But, again, it’s fine. He can handle it. For the third pass, Steve ramps up the intensity again, and on that one, Bucky grimaces. Now it feels like getting stung by a dozen sweat bees in quick succession.

Upon seeing his wince, Steve pulls the wand away and raises a brow. “Good?” he asks.

Bucky lifts his chin. “I can take more.”

Steve chuckles. “Sure about that?”

Fixing his mouth into a stubborn line, he nods. “Yup.”

There’s no mistaking the pride on Steve’s face as he turns the dial, then brings the wand back to Bucky’s arm where—_fuck _a duck! He yelps. Yanks away. Cradles his arm against his body because god damn, Benjamin Franklin hadn’t been fucking around with that kite: electricity is _dangerous_.

"That," Steve says. "Is as high as it goes. And I was keeping it close to your skin. Imagine a line of that running down your spine, instead."

Bucky shudders, because while that sounds...intriguing, it also sounds like a lot.

“So when you say you can take ‘more,’ you might want to try qualifying that statement.”

“Yes,” he agrees, rubbing his arm. “Agreed. But what did you mean by close to my skin?”

Steve smiles, turning down the dial before demonstrating on his own arm, holding the wand at an angle so Bucky can see that he's not really touching the skin, merely holding the tip close, so sparks can dance between the two points. "The further the gap, the more it hurts," he explains, reaching for Bucky's arm and pressing the tip of the wand directly to the inside of his wrist. "Direct contact is more…warm and fuzzy than painful. But if you pull it back too far, the spark can't make the jump at all."

"Oh, wow," he says. "I didn't…it always looks like direct contact in the shit I’ve watched."

“It’s hard to tell the difference unless you’re up close,” he says, then lifts the wand just enough that Bucky gets a zap. “And it’s more art than science. Well. I mean. It’s _science_, but—” He waves a hand. “How about we leave it there?”

“You mean stop?”

“For a second, yeah. Meantime, you can show me something else you learned in yoga.”

“Uhh…” Bucky starts, then throws up both arms. “I’m not second-guessing! I’m just trying to remember a pose!”

That gets a grin out of Steve, who switches off the wand with a smile. “Sure, sweetheart. Jeez, you’re so jumpy—who made you that way?”

“Pretty sure it was you.”

“That’s right,” he grins, pushing himself to his feet. “Tick-tock, rabbit.”

“Um, we did planks? She didn’t call it a plank, but it was a plank.”

“Yeah? Show me how you plank.”

He gets into position, poised on his elbows, forearms, and tip-toes, keeping his back as flat as he can while Steve watches.

“Not bad,” Steve says, and Bucky bites his lip, trying to suppress a grin. “Dip your pelvis a little. That’s it, good boy.”

Bucky flushes at the praise. "Thanks."

“Can you do up-downs?”

“I…” He sighs, ego deflated. “No. I could in high school.”

“We’ll get there. How long can you hold that one?”

“Uh. Not that long?”

“We’ll see,” he says in the deceptively casual tone Bucky has learned means trouble. “Keep it up while I switch attachments, huh?”

“I’ll try.”

“Such effort, Buck, I’m overwhelmed.”

"Ah, fuck off," he grumbles good-naturedly, dropping his head between his arms, instinctively knowing Steve isn't going to give him shit for talking back. Because Steve knows the difference between joking and insubordination, which makes him a lot different than most of the bad doms in the world (or so Bucky assumes from all the time he’s spent online reading horror stories). Steve really only cares when Bucky interrupts or questions a direct order. Two big rules, easy enough to remember. Helps him relax to know he's not going to be inadvertently fucking up, at any rate.

“Smartass,” Steve shoots back, leaning down to give his hair a tug and push on his hips. “Keep your back straight, don’t stick your ass up unless you want it spanked.”

"Sure," he says, licking his lips and settling in the position as Steve goes to do whatever he's going to do.

By the time he comes back, maybe thirty seconds later, Bucky can hear the wand buzzing but can't focus on it because his thighs are rubber, and his core is quivering.

“How you doing?” Steve asks.

“Losing it,” he admits, and he knows his back is starting to bow.

“I’m sorry,” Steve soothes. “You think you can do ten more seconds?”

For Steve, Bucky figures he could do ten years, so he grits his teeth and nods. “Yup.”

Only then, Steve runs a line of fire down his spine, and all bets are off. Bucky collapses to the ground in a heap, writhing away. “Shit, _shit_!”

“Aw, Bucky, c’mon,” he tuts. “I thought you said you could handle it?”

Rolling onto his back, remnants of shock still buzzing through him, Bucky blinks through the sweat in his eyes. Steve is standing over him, holding the wand, which is sporting a new attachment that looks like one of those zen garden rakes people keep in their offices for tiny adult sand pits. Except this one is made of glass and is capable of giving him a nasty shock.

“What the fuck?” he manages.

“You like it?”

“What _is _it?”

“Uh.” Steve blinks. “I believe the scientific name is…a doohickey.”

“A doohickey,” he repeats.

“I didn’t know you needed a fuckin’ dissertation to get zapped on the ass—roll back over.”

Bucky grins, rolling to his stomach, left cheek pressed to the cold floor. “Do you want me to do another plank?”

“_Can _you do another one yet?”

“Uh. Not sure.”

Steve laughs, so Bucky knows he's not bothered, before he steps closer to straddle Bucky’s waist, crouching low to run the rake down his spine for a second time. As Bucky's already flat on the ground, there's nowhere for him to go, so he's forced to endure it, the sensation akin to what he imagines six little knives might feel like, flaying him open. It hurts, yes, though it's not unbearable, and the pain fades quickly once Steve pulls the wand away. "Shit, that feels weird."

“The six tips diffuse the current,” Steve explains. “Each one is less intense than if it were concentrated into a single spot, so I turned it all the way up. Wanted to give you the full effect.”

“Gee, thanks, mister.”

That gets him a swat on his still-sore rear, though Steve doesn’t put much power behind it. “I think that’s enough recovery time. Let’s see a plank.”

Groaning, Bucky waits for Steve to stand before pushing himself onto shaking forearms, dick hanging, mostly uninterested, between his legs. Nothing like when he’s getting a spanking—it’s always _right _the fuck into that, hard as a rock and pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Steve, standing over him, leans down to run the fake-rake across his shoulders, then down his right arm, making it tremble more.

“Don’t fa-all,” barely passes Steve’s lips before he’s touching him with the tool a third time, leading to the inevitable. “Aw, Buck, c’maaaaaaahn!”

“God _damn _it,” he grunts, landing hard on his side.

“Sweet_heart_,” Steve replies, mimicking his phrasing. “Stay right there, close your eyes.”

Despite his suspicions about whatever Steve's up to, Bucky does as he's told. Steve steps away, returning after a few minutes to nudge his sneaker against Bucky’s hip.

“You can open your eyes,” he says, so Bucky does. Looks up at Steve to find the violet wand gone. Or…_not _gone. It’s in Steve’s front pocket, the long black cord trailing away, and that’s weird because why would he— “Roll onto your back.”

Bucky doesn’t think about the wand anymore, just obeys. Steve smiles and crouches down. “Knees bent. We’re gonna do sit-ups.”

“By we, do you mean me?”

“Sure do. Get moving.”

“Will you hold my feet?”

“Nope.”

Bucky sighs. This entire situation is infinitely worse than the Presidential Fitness Test in school. At least back then, he'd been in half-decent shape. He can only imagine pull-ups are next as Steve settles on the floor. Not touching, but tantalizingly close.

"Show me a perfect sit-up, and you’ll get a kiss," he offers, filling Bucky with new motivation. Blue skies ahead, he's sure, so he grins and puts his hands behind his head, flexing his abs to execute an actual _transcendent_ sit-up. Steve's right there waiting, too, except that when Bucky kisses him, he thinks maybe Steve has razor blades in his mouth because what the _Jesus_?

Laughing out loud, Steve pulls away as Bucky claps a hand over his lips.

“What did you...?” he mumbles.

"Indirect current," Steve says proudly, lifting his shirt to reveal a cylindrical tube tucked into the waistband of his jeans, making direct contact with his skin. A cord that Bucky hadn't noticed before snakes from the tube to his pocket, obviously attached to the wand. "Turns me into the conductor. Like—" With that, he nearly touches Bucky's knee, so a spark jumps between them. Which, honestly—razorblade kisses aside—that's pretty fucking cool.

“That’s pretty fucking cool,” he breathes, giving voice to the inanity.

“It’s a neat trick,” Steve agrees. “Means I can use a lot of stuff on you. Wanna try a few things?”

Bucky _really_ does, intimating as much to Steve, who is more than happy to pull out a whole array of toys. There’s everything from a Wartenburg wheel, to a plain old kitchen fork, to one of those aluminum pom-poms that you get at football games. That one doesn’t really hurt so much as it makes Bucky tingle all over, squirming enough to make Steve really laugh.

“You’re so wriggly,” he teases, tossing the pom-pom to the side. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Uh…electrocute me more?” Bucky offers.

"Oh, that's right," he says cheerfully, reaching for a butter knife, which looks innocuous until he runs the cheap, ridged blade against Bucky's skin, and it feels like he's being sliced with a scalpel. That might be his favorite. But then, a _lot _of them might be his favorite.

“What’s that smell?” he asks once he’s recovered. It was something he’d noticed it earlier, but now it’s really pervasive—chemicals and burnt rubber mixed with something weird and sharp. Sort of metallic, coating his tongue as he sniffs the air.

Steve grins. “That’s you, pal.”

“What?”

“Not _just _you. This thing emits ozone, and that smells kinda funky. But it's also uh…body hair smells when it burns."

“Oh. I hadn’t…sorry I’m kinda hairy?”

“Yeah, you should be sorry.”

“Hey!” He laughs. “You’re the one using it on the hairier parts of me.” Namely, his legs and stomach and chest and…yeah, there’s a fair bit of hair to contend with.

"No shit," Steve agrees, punctuating his point with a poke of the butter knife to Bucky's inner thigh. "Maybe I should jab you in the balls, too. They’re pretty fucking furry."

“Well, there’s an idea.”

“Maybe later,” he laughs. “I wanna go back to the Wartenburg.”

Bucky doesn’t have a problem with that in the slightest, so they get to work.

The thing is, though, as they keep playing with the toys, Bucky finds that he's not getting out of his head the way he does with spanking. Sure, this is fun, and it feels good-slash-awful in the way that pings the pleasure centers in his brain, but it's not hitting him like impact play. Pun intended. Because while he's getting hurt, and he's with Steve—both things that help scratch the itch he's been feeling for a fortnight—he’s also entirely within himself. Talking, laughing, asking lots of questions about the what and why as Steve switches from indirect current back to direct, testing a variety of attachments on Bucky's skin. Eventually, he has Bucky sitting on the chair, legs spread, hands resting on his thighs, while he runs an Edison-bulb-looking attachment over his chest. For the most part, Steve has stayed away from his prick, focusing on his torso, arms, and legs, instead. A nipple, occasionally, but it's evident that he's easing Bucky into this slowly. Which, sure, is sweet, but not quite as intense as Bucky’s used to.

Steve, being neither stupid or unobservant, eventually rests his chin on Bucky’s knee, looking up with a rueful sigh. “This isn’t doing it for you, huh?”

“No, this is really good!”

Casual-like, Steve flicks him on his still-limp dick, just like earlier. Only back then, Bucky had been sporting a semi. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

“Owww,” he complains, fingers digging into his thighs. “I’m not!”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes!” He sighs, thinking it over while Steve gives him a second to decide what he wants to say. “I _do _like it. It hurts, and it feels good, too. I just can’t like…it’s not really a turn-on for me, I guess?”

Steve nods. “I noticed.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”

"No, just means I can't use it exclusively in a scene. Which, I guess, is the point of trying this stuff out. Helps me learn what's gonna work for you."

“I...sure,” Bucky agrees. “But I do think it’s interesting. I like knowing how it works. It’s only...maybe I’m _too _interested?" He hesitates, working it out, then giving voice to his best guess. "I can't, you know, do that thing where I disengage. Or, like, I'm not even consciously disengaging, I'm just…you know. Out of it. Subspace." Which is a concept that always sounds stupid when he says it out loud, but it's the only thing he's found that describes the fun, floaty rush he's experienced a few times now and wants to experience on a billion more occasions throughout his life.

“Something like that,” Steve agrees. “I’m sorry, I probably went on too long. I kept thinking I’d hit on the right combination to get you there.”

Bucky frowns. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do you?”

“Not really.”

Steve's face relaxes into a smile, and he wants to touch his cheek, because he looks charming, sitting there, chin all mushed against Bucky's knee, crooked nose too big on his weird, handsome face. But he doesn't touch, because Steve didn't say he could, and he thinks maybe it would make things awkward if he did.

“We could do something else for a minute,” Steve offers, the limit on their time together an unspoken implication. “I didn’t bring much, but—

That’s when Bucky gets his really dumb-slash-genius idea, undoubtedly brought about by Steve’s earnestness. “Or…you could go for a big finish?”

“A big finish?” Steve echoes, sitting back, which means his chin isn’t on Bucky’s knee anymore. Bummer. “I’m listening.”

“Well…” Bucky shrugs. “You _did_ say you wanted to shock me in the nuts.”

Steve’s face registers surprise, then he laughs like a startled goose. “It always comes back to balls with you.”

“Hey!”

“What? It does. Anyway, I dunno. That’s a lot to try, first time out.”

“I wanna know what it feels like.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve smiles a little. “Jesus, you and your big finishes. You know, there’s a reason I save the harder stuff for when you’re a little more…relaxed. Disengaged, like you said. It’s easier to take.”

That explains the lack of electricity applied to erogenous zones. Bucky bites his lip. “I don’t care.”

Steve matches the challenge, folding his arms across his chest, jaw set. “Well, shit. It’d hurt more on your taint.”

The ante is upped so casually that Bucky concedes without thinking. “Yeah, that’s true. We should do that.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, except—” He hesitates, because this is where the dumb part of his genius idea comes in. “I want something in return. Like a bargain.”

Steve’s eyebrows once again creep up his forehead in a manner that might be dickish on a lesser human. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were in a position to make demands.”

“I’m the one in possession of the taint you’re suddenly so interested in shocking.”

Steve barks out another goose-laugh. “Alright, then, genius. What are your terms?”

Bucky flexes his fingers against his thighs, considering for a moment before settling. “You can zap me for three seconds, but I get to ask you five questions, which—” He can see the smug look on Steve’s face already. “—you have to give me honest, thorough answers to.”

“Careful there.”

Bucky fights to keep his expression impassive. “Deal or no deal?”

“What happened to negotiating in good faith? I’m countering with, hmm…ten seconds, you get _one _question, and you’re not getting off tonight, or at any point during the next two weeks.”

“How is that even—that’s bullshit! Good faith, my ass!”

“Take it or leave it, Howie Mandel.”

“Did you time travel for that reference, or—?” Bucky squeaks, as Steve cracks him lightly across the thigh. “Hey!”

“Smartass—I’ll drag you over my knee right here.”

“No. I mean, yes, but…I just…uh. Okay, four seconds, four questions, I get to jerk off when I get home, and I get one orgasm between now and next time.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Five seconds. Three questions. You can have one orgasm between now and next time, but there’s absolutely no way I’m letting you get off tonight, here or at home. Final offer.”

Considering he’s gotten Steve from one question to three, Bucky takes the offer before he has a chance to second guess. “Deal.”

“Excellent,” Steve says, clapping his hands. “Stand up, turn around, bend over, and spread ‘em.”

Naturally, Steve’s not going to let him retain even a modicum of dignity. Because Bucky had to tease him about his dumb Howie Mandel joke, which means that Steve’s going to put him in the most embarrassing position he possibly can. Ergo, ten seconds later, Bucky’s bent double, hands on his knees as he waits for further instruction.

"Reach back," Steve chirps. "Gimme a show."

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, grabbing two handfuls of red cheek to expose his taint. Dan Savage can go fuck himself, because this, right here? This is modern love.

“Quit complaining. This was your idea,” Steve says. “By the way, if you move, we’re starting over, and you lose a question every time we do.”

With stakes that high, Bucky isn’t moving for shit. Which is just as well, because two seconds later, Steve’s hovering the buzzing wand millimeters from his taint, shocking the everloving shit out of him. Well, not _literally_. That would be gross. But still. It’s a fucking lot. Bucky transcends to a higher plane of agony, in fact, twitching, shuddering, fighting every instinct he has, all of them currently screaming at him to run away from this burning stinging of a thousand trillion wasps.

“—two one-thousand—” Steve’s voice floats in from somewhere. Fucking _titgoats_, they’re not even _halfway_. This was idiotic. So what if he gets to ask Steve questions? How is he going to ask them when there’s a _hole _burnt in his taint? Or maybe this is going to sever his balls from his body somehow, because sure, Steve said this wasn’t dangerous, but how could it _not _be dangerous when it hurts this much?

The buzzing stops. Bucky drops to his knees, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Steve must have turned off the wand because he’s on the ground with him pretty quick, one arm slipping around his shoulders, the other between his legs to rub his raw skin. And, fuck, that’s nice. In spite of it all, Steve rubbing him right there is kind of worth it. Even if it _does _feel like his nethers have had rough grit sandpaper scraped across them for five goddamn seconds.

“You’re so brave, kiddo,” Steve murmurs, pressing a couple kisses to his sweaty neck, and _that’s _pretty cool, too. Makes the whole thing a net positive. Mostly. Ugh, he’s gonna be walking weird tomorrow. Still, he doesn’t care about being embarrassed. He just wants to feel better. And feeling better means Steve, so he wraps his arms around his waist and hides his face against his neck, shivering until he doesn’t need to anymore.

Only then does Steve release him. Holds him at arm’s length, then chucks him gently beneath the chin. “Alright?”

“That _sucked_,” Bucky informs him.

“It was supposed to,” Steve says. “Let’s go in the back, I’ll put some lotion on it.”

Bucky thinks that sounds just fine, allowing Steve to help him to his feet, after which he walks the distance to the back room alone while Steve cleans up. It strikes him that this is the first time he’s been able to make that journey by himself, rather than fuzzy and supported by Steve. The first time he’s settled on the sofa while wholly in his head. It’s kind of nice, actually, being fully present, waiting for Steve to fetch the supplies.

“You wanna lie over my lap again?” Steve asks, approaching the couch.

Yes, yes he does, so he hops up to let Steve sit down, then stretches across his thighs. And sure, maybe it’s always going to be a little bit odd when Steve rubs lotion into his intimate areas, but like, the whole conceit of this place is nuts. He can deal with a lot of weird for the cooling ambrosia that comes from that bottle. 

“Do I get to ask my questions now?” he asks after a minute has passed.

“Does that count as one of them?” Steve teases, calloused thumb trailing down his spine.

“Nah.”

"Then, I guess, yeah, go ahead."

Bucky hesitates, because now that it comes down to asking, all his surety and confidence have flown out the window. There’s so much he wants to know, but his mind is filled with half-formed notions, stuck in the sludge of his less-than-quick wit: _do you like me? Why do I like this? Would you want to get dinner with me sometime? Where do you live? Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Is this your only job? Do you think about me as a person, or just a play toy?_

What comes out instead is, “how come you don’t ever let me get you off?”

Steve's fingers stop moving, and for a second, Bucky's sure he's going to push him off his lap and walk out of the room. Of all the dumbshit questions...of all the topics Steve is not gonna touch, that's number one, and—

“Because that’s not what this is about,” he says after a moment, fingers resuming their work. “That, and I don’t fuck my clients.”

“Oh.” Is Bucky a client? He _was, _yes, that first time, but he's not paying now.

“It’s illegal, first of all,” Steve continues, though Bucky’s stuck on the fact that there’s a whiff of bullshit about this answer, considering Steve _definitely _gave him a handjob last time. "Secondly, this isn't about me feeling good, it's about what's good for you."

Counterpoint: double bullshit. Because Steve’s not getting paid for the time he spends with Bucky, so why _shouldn’t _he be allowed to get off? Also, also! Steve has _definitely_ been hard, both times they’ve played (though, interestingly, he isn’t this time around). Part of Bucky wants to argue the point. To ask a follow-up that focuses on Steve’s inconsistencies. But he’s only got two questions left, and he doesn’t want to waste them on arguing when he hasn’t had time to prepare. To sit and think through Steve’s stupid reasoning so he can form rebuttal or two.

“Okay,” he says instead, whining when Steve rubs an especially sore spot.

“Next question?”

“Uh. How’d you get into this?”

“Kink in general, or the job?”

“Both, I guess.”

“That’s two questions, but I won’t count it against you.”

“That’s so benevolent.”

“I’m a real nice guy,” he teases, giving that sore spot a little pinch, which goes right to Bucky’s dick. “Oh, hey, there’s my friend.”

“Shut up.”

“I was just wondering where he’d been—”

“_Steve_.”

“I just think, if I’m gonna restrict your orgasms, you ought to at least do me the courtesy of getting hard so you can hate me a little for doing it.”

“Are you gonna answer my question or not?”

“Spoil my fun,” he teases. “So, alright, I got into kink through my friend Nat.”

“The one with the better violet wand?”

"Yup. We went to college together. Met her at the awkward introductory queer kids club session, freshman year. You know, come in, nice to meet you, grab a condom, and a dental dam."

“Oh, yeah. I was in that club.”

"We were all in that club," he replies. "Anyway, Nat and I liked each other straight off the bat. She was already well-versed in kink, and when I kind of…expressed a curiosity, she started taking me to munches, and clubs. All that stuff. Except…" he laughs, and to Bucky's ears, it sounds almost wistful. "She talked a big game, but it was her first time actually_ doing_ any of it. She’d mostly just spent a lot of time on the internet, but she could bluff so well that I believed she was this totally worldly person who knew everything about S&M. At eighteen.”

“I mean. I think _you _know everything. So it’s not that weird.”

"Yeah, but I do know everything."

"Ha, ha. So, you went with her, and you liked it?"

"I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't," he says, and Bucky hopes that he's not gonna count that as his third question because it's just clarifying the details. Steve _had _promised to be thorough. “I had a girlfriend at the time who got pretty into it with me. We learned a lot together.”

“Wait, you’re _straight_?”

“No.” Steve gives his thigh a light smack. “Bisexuality exists.”

“Oh.” Cheeks burning hot, Bucky nods. “Right. Of course it does. Sorry.”

“Don’t erase my identity, pal, I’ll string you up by your toes and tickle you to death.”

“Mmm, no thanks,” he grins, wriggling said toes for emphasis, glad Steve doesn’t seem to actually be upset.

“So, if you’re done interrupting…?”

“I’m done.”

"Great. Long story short, Nat started working here during our junior year. She heard about it from some mutual friends, and—"

“Nat wasn’t your girlfriend, though, right?”

“Jesus, how many questions are you gonna ask?”

"Ah..."

“Don’t think I’m not holding all this interrupting against you for next time—I’m up to at least three horribly painful corrections.”

Bucky smiles and turns his face against a cushion. “Okay.”

"Masochist," Steve teases. "Anyway, no, Nat wasn't my girlfriend. But, so, she's here, and she's making okay money. Then when I graduated, I couldn't find a job—" he hesitates like he's not sure how much he wants to reveal. "I was always good at the amateur shit, people liked playing with me. Not as many men do this professionally, but she vouched for me. Got me the gig. I sucked at it to start. But now—" He rubs one of his big, warm hands along the length of Bucky's thigh. "You, my friend, are the recipient of my years of experience."

"Boy, howdy."

Steve snorts. “You got a third question, or are you just gonna keep humping my leg?”

Bucky stills his hips, which may or may not have been rolling slightly. “It feels good.”

“Yep. So, you know, keep it up if you want, but I’m not changing my mind about you getting off tonight.”

Point taken, Bucky turns his head so his left cheek is pressed against the couch, where he can just about make Steve out from the corner of his eye. “I got a million things I want to ask.”

“Too bad you only get one.”

“Mmm.” He nods, thinking it over. Wonders what he can get away with, but ultimately decides that he wants information about how he might one day be able to worm his way into _Steve’s _pants, rather than the other way around. “What’s uh…what’s your _thing_? Like, you know, spanking’s my thing. So, what’s yours?”

Steve chuckles like someone’s grandpa, tapping Bucky on the thigh. “Turn over. Gotta get your thighs, too,” he says, so Bucky does, scooting to the end of the couch. Waits while Steve squirts more lotion into his hands and contemplates his answer. Eventually, he sits back, resting both palms on Bucky's calves. "I kind of said it before. But my _thing _is giving other people their things. Allowing them that release. The stuff I do to get them to that point is just…stuff. Whatever works for them. Oh, and seeing people cry. Knowing that I caused those tears. That’s my thing, too. The rest is just—” he waves a hand, then drops it back down. “Details.”

Bucky’s grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. Because Steve just pretty much said that _Bucky _is his favorite thing. And while he's not so up his ass as to think he's special (the statement was exceptionally fuckin' generalized, after all), knowing that Steve has made him cry _several _times means that, in some small way, he's giving Steve precisely what he needs.

“So you can see why I’m a little bummed I couldn’t get you crying tonight,” Steve continues, breaking up Bucky’s thoughts.

“I mean…I cried from the spanking.”

"Yeah," he concedes, shrugging and twisting his mouth into a half-frown. "But, I think that was mostly because you'd been laughing so hard to start."

“Maybe.”

“Just means that next time, I’ll have to bring something I _know_ will make you cry. How’s that sound?”

Two weeks suddenly seem like two years. Bucky shivers. "That…that sounds good."

"I want you to keep going to yoga, too. And tomorrow, I want you to do a thirty-second plank before you do anything else. You're gonna plank every day, actually—add five seconds every time, so when I see you in two weeks, you'll be at…what?"

The question isn’t rhetorical, so Bucky does some quick math. “About a minute and a half?”

“Good boy. I’ll bring a stopwatch.”

He grins. “Awesome.”

“As for your orgasm…” Steve considers it, chewing on his lip like it’s a tough decision. “You can have that…a week from Tuesday. But you gotta do it right after your plank, in the shower. No porn, no edging. Rub it out quick. You got me?”

“Can I text you after I do it?”

“You’d better,” he says, tweaking Bucky’s nose like a weirdo before pushing his legs away. “Go get dressed.”

Bucky’s not sure, but he thinks Steve might have surreptitiously checked the time somewhere in there. Which means he has another client coming in, probably. Shit, he doesn’t want to think about that. He knows Steve sees a lot of people, which is fine, but that doesn’t mean he has to like the idea. So he smiles. Hops up to retrieve his clothes, which he pulls on while Steve puts away his toys.

“So uh,” he says when he’s ready, standing by the door and tugging on the strings of his hoodie. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks?”

“Just…” Steve looks up from where he’s fitting everything into his kit and laughs. “You’re that eager to get out of here?”

“No, but…”

“Just hang on a second, speedy.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he says, and then he’s on his feet, crossing to the door, where he pins Bucky against the metal and kisses him, hard and bruising and different from their first kiss because with this one, Steve’s in control and Bucky’s the one playing catch up, chasing for more when he pulls away.

“What was that for?” he asks, breathless.

“Wanted to. Didn’t know I needed a reason.”

“I…you don’t,” he says, and then Steve’s on him again, biting down on his lip so it hurts. Tugging Bucky’s head back to expose the line of his throat and giving him a nip there, too.

“Such a good boy,” Steve says upon releasing him, one hand moving to the doorknob, turning it with a grin. “Get outta here, huh?”

“Sure, yeah,” he agrees. “I um…I’ll text you when I go to yoga.”

“Text me whenever you want,” Steve says, and then Bucky’s on the other side of the door, which shuts behind him.

Jesus, Steve is a _lot_.

Arriving home some twenty minutes later, Bucky hops online and orders one of those posture corrector things. Then, he texts Steve a photo of the emailed receipt.

Two hours later, Steve responds:

_Good boy. Don't forget your phone next time._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and apologies for the delay. To my anonymous Tumblr friends: I hear you, and I'm happy to finally be posting this one! No promises on when the next part will show up. It's written, but life is a rich tapestry, and editing is hard. Shout out to [awwtopsy](https://awwtopsy.tumblr.com) for her quick and dirty beta, and one final happy birthday to my Bea. It has been a shitkicker of a year, and your friendship makes getting through the days a little easier. Hope this scratched the itch!


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